The Fiorelli house was filled with family and friends celebrating Brandon’s life and mourning his loss, an odd combination of reluctant happiness and gut-churning grief amidst music, laughter, and tears.
It was a fraction of the sorrow that had encapsulated Sheila from the second she’d found Brandon lying unconscious in his room.
Feeling invisible, she’d climbed the stairs and stopped in the doorway of Brandon’s room, the unbroken part of her expecting the little boy to race into her arms and challenge her to a ferocious game of Monopoly. Instead, her arms felt empty, as if the life had been drained from her. Taken from her.
The anguish she’d sworn she would never experience again suffocated her.
The cowboy bedspread and matching pillows had been straightened, the sheriff’s badge throw rug that had cushioned Brandon from the wood floor set back in place. The toys, the coloring books, the conglomeration of crayons and markers lay scattered about as if waiting for their master to return and put them to use.
But Brandon wasn’t coming back. Just like her mother wasn’t coming back. Just like her brother.
Had it really been less than a week since she’d brought the Old West to life on the far wall of Brandon’s room? How she’d loved sketching out the sheriff’s office, adding weathered detail to the rickety swinging saloon doors, filling in the lines with thick, glossy bright colors so as to transport its cowboy-obsessed resident into the world of his dreams. She’d filled every brushstroke with love, wanting Brandon to know how much he meant to her, wanting to give him everything he’d always wanted.
The heaviness in her chest had yet to lessen. Why was it that whenever she surrendered to the gift she’d been given, whenever she let the happiness take over, someone she loved died?
The question turned her legs weak and she stumbled to the bed, staring at her last creation without seeing. The room spun and she closed her eyes, reached out to grip the soft pillow hard enough for her nails to dig through the fabric and into her palms. At that moment, Sheila both hated and admired her sister. That Morgan could put her heart in jeopardy with every child she took in, every child she tried to save.
How did she see past the possibility of losing them? How did she survive it time after time? Sheila couldn’t do it. Not again. Never again.
“Sheila?”
Somehow, thankfully, her father’s sympathetic voice cauterized the wound in her heart.
She swiped a hand under her eyes, felt the tears that had escaped her control and shifted into her composed, presentable self. “Hi, Dad.” She hated the crack in her voice. Tremaynes were strong. Tremaynes didn’t crumble under pressure. They didn’t surrender to emotions.
Tremaynes got the job done. She blinked and another tear slipped free. How did she have any tears left?
“You did a beautiful job on this.” Jackson wandered closer to her painting. For an instant, she let herself bask in her father’s pride, but not long enough to dampen the urge to grab a paint roller and paint the entire wall black. “You have your mother’s touch.”
And another knife to her heart. “I was never as good as she was.”
“She believed you were better.” Jackson shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants as he glanced at the floor, a sad but amused smile on his face. “It’s why she wanted you to study in Europe. She saw your potential. Hoped one day you would embrace it.”
Bitterness tickled the back of her throat. “I’ve always been more comfortable copying others’ work. It made forging the notarization on the so-called amended bylaws easier.” She grabbed hold of the opportunity to change the subject. “Thankfully Nathan found those note cards from Nemesis when he accessed Morgan’s computer to find out what she’d done. She saved all our butts even if she doesn’t know it. Speaking of Morgan, is she here yet?”
“She arrived a few minutes ago with Gage.” The smile on her father’s face widened and the cloud of melancholy lifted. “No official announcement yet, but if Gage’s mother’s attentiveness is any indication, we can expect one soon. Morgan’s wearing your grandmother’s engagement ring.”
The joy flooding Sheila’s system was tempered by irritation. She huffed. “Thank God Randolph called you.” The idea of her grandmother’s collection being sold to strangers, or worse, to their fellow Lantano Valley residents, stoked the fire in Sheila’s belly. She’d make sure Randolph was rewarded somehow.
“Would have been suitable payback, wouldn’t you say?” Jackson said. “If it wasn’t for Nemesis’ arrogance and miscalculations, Morgan never would have been put in the position of having to do so.”
“Contrary to what the police believe and what you might think, Nemesis was a team effort,” Sheila reminded him. “You needed, we all needed something to focus on after Mom—” She cleared her throat. “After last summer. Nemesis was an inspired creation, Dad. Lantano Valley needs him, and we’ve done a lot of good. Besides, it wasn’t as if we knew Van Keltin was stupid enough to hide drug money in his clients’ homes.” Knowing the mob-lawyer would have to choose between solitary confinement in prison or the witness protection program kicked fragments of her pain aside.
“Losing myself in Nemesis didn’t rid me of the grief over losing your mother, Sheila. It delayed it. But you’re right. Knowing what we know, given the information we’re privy to, I think we were onto something. It doesn’t change the fact that Nemesis almost cost your sister her freedom, not to mention the man she loves.”
“Yeah, well, imagine the position she’d have been in if you’d let her in on the family secret.” Feeling steadier now, Sheila kicked her legs out, crossed her ankles, and leaned back on the bed. She could do this, block out the pain, turn it off. She’d done it before.
“You’ve always had an exceptional talent for saying ‘I told you so’ without uttering the words.” Jackson bent to pick up a drawing off the floor, then appeared to think better of it and left it where it was. “You were right. Neither your sister nor your mother would have understood what we’ve done. Catherine believed, and Morgan still believes, in the inherent good in people. That people, when faced with a choice, will do the right thing. You, me, and Nathan, we know most people need a push in the right direction.”
“More like a kick in the—”
“There you two are.” Nathan leaned around the doorframe, slapped his hand on the wall. His smile faded as he looked at Sheila and then his father. He stepped inside, closed the door and lowered his voice. “I know those looks. I thought we agreed not to discuss Nemesis outside the house. You’ve got cops not to mention the D.A. downstairs. Any one of whom—”
“Relax, Nathan.” Sheila sighed. “No one’s paying any attention to Nemesis at the moment.”
“Lucky for us,” Nathan muttered. “I was thinking we need to ditch the last of that cash we got from Van Keltin and his clients. We don’t want anyone else getting tagged by the Feds. Especially that Kolfax guy. He got a little too close, if you ask me.”
“He did indeed. But we’re still here. Mail the cash to Evan,” Jackson said, and smiled as he chuckled. “Better yet, since you’ve perfected your method of breaking into secure facilities, deliver it personally. Be sure to include a thank-you note letting him know Nemesis is going on an extended vacation.”
“And what is Nemesis going to do on this vacation?” Sheila asked, desperate for a new task. A new target. Something, anything to take her mind off her grief.
“My darling daughter.” Jackson reached his hand out for her. “It’s time for Nemesis to reinvent himself.”